


No Sale

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cigarettes, First Meeting, HIghwayPatrol!Chris, M/M, Veteran!Chris, Veteran!Stiles, small country town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: Things change when you're overseas. Everyone tells them that, but Chris hates to see the moment that other people realize that the way he did. Now almost twelve years after his own deployment, he felt it again in a road side gas station in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 41
Kudos: 350





	No Sale

Chris’s feet were wet from the river in the warm wells of his floorboard. His socks were only getting clammy through the hot leather toes as he pulled up to the gas station between the turn off where he fished and his house. Security lights glowed in pools on the concrete as he got out of his truck. His poles rattled in the dark as he closed his door and walked toward the entrance. 

At nearly ten on a Thursday, it was dead. John Stilinski’s red ‘90s Ford was four or five spaces away in front of the ice machine. Chris remembered John driving it in high school. Now he only got it out when he wasn’t working, which wasn’t often. 

As he walked into the store, he nodded at the high schooler behind the counter. He scanned the store for John, but he didn’t see him as he grabbed himself a coke and a pack of sunflower seeds to keep him busy while he watched the news. 

As he was about to go toward the counter, he saw someone came out from the bathrooms. He was a young man, maybe twenty-one. He looked like he’d just come off a hard shift from somewhere. Maybe he worked at the glass plant. Second shift should be getting off around that time. The man picked up a cup that had been sitting near the fountain drinks and took it to the counter. Chris slowly followed him up, browsing the shelves. He smelled like machine oil. 

“Marlboro reds,” the man said. 

The clerk looked over the man’s shoulder at Chris, then glanced back at him.

“Um,” the clerk said. 

The guy laughed slightly before glancing back at Chris. “Wanna see my ID in front of the cop?” 

Chris smiled slightly. “What makes you say that?” 

“I don’t know. I can never say for sure,” the guy said, handing the clerk his ID. But he smiled at Chris. 

Chris smiled back before the guy looked away. He was entirely too young for Chris to be entertaining conversation. Not that he didn’t want to. It was hard to find gay in their area, it was harder to find men that looked like this kid, who were also gay or at least willing to fuck around. He didn’t know how he knew the boy was gay. He could never tell for sure. 

“I’m sorry I can’t sell these to you,” the clerk said. 

“What?” the guy asked, looking back at him. He looked at his ID and held it back out. “Oh fuck. Yeah. I know I need to get it renewed, but I just got back into the States last week-.” 

“No, you aren’t twenty-one.” 

The kid’s face creased. “What’d you mean? It’s not beer.” 

“It’s for cigarettes now too. I can’t sell to you.” 

The boy stared at him. The clerk was tall, but the was soft-looking, like his mom still made his doctor’s appointments and made sure he had a dinner warm in the stove. The boy pushed his baseball hat up and scratched at his long brown hair. There was a black american flag on the black fabric. His boots were military issue, hidden beneath his bootcut levis. The red truck outside caught his attention. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder from behind. 

“Give me a carton of reds,” Chris said, stepping up to the counter. 

“No-,” the guy said, snapping out of his fixation with the clerk. 

Chris glanced at the guy, but thumbed out the money the clerk asked for. 

“Really-” 

“I’m willing to bet I outrank you.” 

The guy went from embarrassed to still. Not like Chris’s rank had any bearing, but it was the same way he felt. If someone mentioned service when you were in a pinch, you felt like you weren’t alone. Maybe they knew the same kind of things you did. 

When Chris put away his card, he grabbed the cigarettes and his bag of things he shouldn’t be eating. The guy took his drink and held the door open for Chris. The clerk didn’t say a word. Chris went toward the boy’s truck and took the carton from his bag. He held it out and the boy hesitated before taking it. 

“I’ve got a twenty,” the guy said. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. 

Before he could walk away, the guy ripped open the top of the carton. The guy unwound a pack and put the trash into his carhart pocket. 

“At least smoke one with me?” 

“Sure,” Chris said, taking what he was offered. When the guy held up his lighter to Chris’s face, he sucked in, and tried not to look at the flame in his dark eyes. He could still see it in the corner of his sight. The first cloud into his lungs burned, but it tasted like such dry dry heat. 

“Where were you?” 

“Afghanistan.”

“I hit that once. Iraq two others,” Chris said. “How long?” 

“Eighteen months,” he said. 

“Welcome home,” Chris said. 

The kid laughed slightly, “What the fuck kind of welcome is this?” he asked, before he exhaled. “I wasn’t even addicted to this shit until I was over there.” 

“I know,” Chris said, looking at the red truck. He could see the shape of a sticker on the back window. He couldn’t see what was on it, but he didn’t need to. He remembered it. “Your John’s son, aren’t you?” 

The kid nodded his head. 

“We know each other well. My route is in his county,” he said. 

“For how long?” 

“Two years.” 

“I remember him talking about you before I left,” he said. He held out his hand. “Stiles.” 

“Chris,” he said, shaking his hand. 

Stiles looked at Chris’s truck a few spots away. He stared at it and his brown eyes reflected the harsh green lights. 

“What were you fishing for?” 

“Catfish and one or two for bait,” he said. 

“Did you catch anything?” 

“Four good-sized flatheads,” he said. 

“I haven’t done that in so long. Dad complained when I was overseas, because he had to clean his own.” 

Chris laughed slightly. Stiles felt like talking. He didn’t look particularly fucked up on anything. It was late, he looked beat, but he obviously wasn’t fucked up. He was probably just the in the haze, that haze that happened when you were dumped back onto solid ground after being on the other side of the world. 

“I always knew he was a smart man,” Chris said. 

Stiles laughed slightly. Then he took out his phone, while clamping his cigarette between his lips. He seemed to check the time before dropping it back into his pocket. 

“I wouldn’t mind cleaning some fish in trade?” 

“You don’t need to do a thing,” Chris said. He put out his cigarette and tossed it into the trash before looking back at Stiles. “All my tools are at my house. Are you busy now?” 

“No,” Stiles said, for the first time, he looked his age. He looked excited. He took a few more hurried puffs before snuffing the embers. “If I smoke in the truck Dad will kill me.” 

Chris laughed slightly. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. There were plenty of cases of police officers’ children being criminals. If anything, they seemed predisposed. Especially when they had a parent like John, who dealt with all the crimes in his county. But he recognized that look, the look of wanting to go anywhere else but home. 

“Follow me. I’m only a few minutes up the road.”

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello to the first thing I've been able to write in what feels like months. I'm going to leave a small update to my works HERE. That goes to my Tumblr. It isn't a pity post, it's just a heads up about works. 
> 
> Please sweet god, do not ask about other WIPs in the comments. I am trying my hardest to find motivation to finish Gone (IT IS SO FUCKING CLOSE). Then my main focuses will be Failing and Marks for the new year. If you want to know more, please read the update on my Tumblr. It isn't to be dramatic. I just want to keep you guys in the know and let you know that I have every intention of finishing my WIPs. Thank you for always being so supportive.


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